Left, or right?
by maverickavenger
Summary: Anything said will give it away. :P


**Disclaimer;;** I don't own anything except the dirt on my shoes. :P

**Summary;;** We all adore that cute bit of fluff that rolls around every once in a while, don't we? Too bad. This isn't one of them. xD

**Author's Note;;** Whew, it's been a while, eh? Sorry to all my beautiful and happy little readers who have eagerly awaited my return. I took a break to try and find my muse, and I believe I did. So, I'm writing this little oneshot to refresh everyone's memories or my past accomplishments. But looking them over, I have found they lack a degree of literacy that I really have. So I hope you enjoy this little quickie.

**Le Story;;**

Running. That shit was hard.

And so were the first words that popped into the eighteen year old senior's mind as she continued, attempting not to stumble for the millionth time that day. She absolutely hated her gym teacher. Mrs. Flick. Uhg. Seriously. The woman lived in the nineteenth century, what with her sweats hiked all the way up to her breasts and hardly covering her ankles, a tight fitting tye-dye shirt that showed off every curve she wished she had, and her hair up in an extremely high pony-tail.

The woman was a freaking maniac, making them do this many sprints. The brunette felt as though her long legs were about to burst as she pushed ahead of the rest of the runners, greeted with the ecstatic cheers of her friends. They were counting on her! Whichever team got picked first got a break and could hit the showers early, and as she strained her leg muscles more and more, she felt strangely different.

The wind pushing hard on her lithe frame, trying in vain to stop her. Her long hair flowing out behind her, her adrenaline pumping.

What was this feeling?

It was emptiness, as though there was a gaping hole where her stomach should be, but the thought of food made her sick. These thoughts made her dwindle in her magnificent speed and return to average, realizing she was now neck and neck with Hitaru, the fastest girl in the entire twelfth grade. The brunette narrowed her eyes at the blond next to her, who returned the glare full force. Damn, this gym was big...

They raced hard, vastly gaining leads on the slower of their opponents. Their two teams lie in wait on the other side, cheering and clapping and jumping, flailing their arms like idiots.

Chihiro. Her name had always been odd; beautiful, but odd. Everyone at their tiny highschool knew she was different; she scared almost every teacher half to death because of her silent approaches- she'd had more doors slammed in her face by accident than most did. It was as though she wasn't even there. Being the normal teen she was, Chihiro sometimes switched shoes with her friends for fun, and she could hear Ella squeaking down the hall with her vans from a mile away, but they never made a sound when they regained their hold on her tiny, dainty feet.

There was another word to describe Chihiro: dainty. She was as thin as a pole, but had curves like an hourglass and legs like an ostrich, for lack of a better comparison. She was the envy of a few, the despised of few others, and friends to the rest. She liked black, so that's how she dressed. A flattering top, studded belt, baggy jeans or cargos, and her all-to-famous vans.

Why were they famous, you say?

Well, those vans were the ones she'd had since she was sixteen. She hadn't outgrown them, had never lost them, and they only really seemed to fit her feet perfectly. That wasn't exactly why they were famous. They were so well known because they had been planted right on the face of the very girl she raced against, Hitaru.

They'd been in a fight, Hitaru had tried to walk away with her dignity when she lost, but tripped and fell, and Chihiro, not being able to help herself, walked forward and right onto her precious little face. She'd gotten a nice bruise from that, too...

Hitaru was one of the most popular girls in school. Her pretty blonde hair was always crimpy and bounced on her shoulders like golden sunshine. Her azure blue eyes were crystal clear and sparkled in the light. She had a fairly athletic build, a curvy body, long legs, and the height of a normal girl who was seventeen. Normally the school policy was that younger students had to respect the older- which meant that Chihiro was given almost as much respect as a teacher. Hitaru, though, was a transfer student, and used the excuse 'Oh, but this is just so new!' Way. Too. Much.

The two had been rivals since she'd gotten here. They peppy, happy-go-lucky Hitaru had despised the pessimistic, quiet, and sometimes sullen Chihiro. It was war.

But Chihiro hadn't always been this way. There had been a time when she'd had hope in her heart and her head in the clouds. She'd sometimes go to school wearing completely mismatched clothes because she'd been daydreaming all morning. But then highschool hit. She was instantly laughed at and shunned- her stories of a Spirit Realm had gotten old. Nobody believed in her fairytales anymore.

So neither did Chihiro.

She grew out of it- kept telling herself that it was only a dream. Nothing had happened in that old red building because it didn't _exist_. She remembered how she'd gone searching in the woods for ages and never found a trace. Not a glimmer of crimson, not the babbling of a brook. Nothing.

Chi, as her friends had grown to call her, was suddenly thrashed from her daydream as she rammed headlong into her gym partners, who were gaping at her like she was some sort of monster. Chihiro looked back and saw that she had left Hitaru far behind her. Somewhere along the lines, according to the girls surrounding her, a burst of speed had pushed her way ahead of Hitaru and it had looked like the wind blew her forwards, even though the windows open faced against her.

It was some sort of twisted reality that she had let herself fall into another elusive daydream and actually won. Shaking her head, Chihiro forced a smile and managed to retreat into the locker rooms with her three companions, unaware of the vicious glare Hitaru was sending at her head, wishing it were a bullet instead of a look of distaste.

----x----

Walking home, Chihiro played with a strand of still slightly wet chocolate brown hair, humming a sweet melody to herself, a light shoulder bag thrown over one side of her and filled with her nightly binders. Closing her abnormally large amber eyes momentarily, she allowed herself to stop and sigh, the wind almost seeming to caress her pale cheeks. The eyeliner painting her lids practically melted away as she shed a few tears, catching sight of a path to her right.

Trails of black and blue raced down her skin, like they were trying to beat one another to her smooth chin. Chihiro couldn't help but let more blackened tears fall as the wind gave her a gentle, but still harsh push in the general direction of the path. Looking back to the sidewalk, she realized that this choice could form the very foundation of the way she lived her life from this moment on.

Go back to the dreams, or normality?

Her heart beat in her chest like a drum, and her feet almost seemed to have a mind of they're own as they tore her away from her mind once more. She kept her eyes shut tightly, letting her feet find the way. Which way had she gone? She couldn't remember. Left, or right? She could hear a bird chirping above her, or was that the radio blaring out an open window? She couldn't take it anymore and her eyes burst open, and she almost began sobbing when she found herself in front of that deep blue, two story home she'd resided in for more than seven years.

Bursting in the front entrance she closed the door with her foot and rushed up the stairs and collapsed onto her bed, gushing her weeps and moans into her pillow as she clutched her raven-emerald quilt for comfort. His sultry, smooth voice popped into her head, cooing to her, trying to get her to stop crying. It only made her sob harder and harder, holding fast to her blanket as she curled up in a ball, letting out five years of pent up grief.

It was all just a memory now.


End file.
